


Age by Age

by flugantamuso



Category: Weiss Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-10
Updated: 2010-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-06 03:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flugantamuso/pseuds/flugantamuso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It happens again and again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Age by Age

**Author's Note:**

> written for Sprinkink. Prompt: April 27, 17. Weiss Kreuz, Aya/Crawford: Forced seduction - "Are you shivering?"

Part 1

He was taller than most of them were, but it wasn’t his height that caught the eye. It could have been his attitude, because most of them were cowed, and he wasn’t, or the fact that he couldn’t speak English, which immediately made everyone more suspicious of him. But even if you’d seen him across a room, before you knew any of these things, you’d notice his hair, bright red against a sea of black. He had the brightest coloring of anyone in their camp even the guards. And that was before taking into consideration his purple eyes.

Brad was wary, because surely such a thing could not be natural, but he was also curious, and avaricious. He’d never had a Jap before, never had the desire to, but he desired this one. It shouldn’t be too hard. They were so deprived here that a few kindnesses should buy him gratitude.

Should, in this case, did not. Aya looked down his nose at the extra blanket that Brad offered, refused the fresh fruit that Brad brought him. So he changed tactics.

He watched, watched as Aya ate the pitiful gruel that he was given, watched as he participated in the days work, as he visited families, individuals. His observations did not go unnoticed.

"Having fun?"

Schuldig leaned against the fence, hips slouched out. He had a German accent that scared the new guards, but he controlled the largest faction of the guard population. He was loud and cruel, and he had an overpowering personality.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Schuldig snorted. "Right. Let me give you a bit of advice. If you want something, take it. I do." He glided away.

Brad continued to watch Aya, and that was why he was there the first time the boy was attacked. He was young, but appealing, with large dark eyes and a sweet face. Aya occasionally visited him.

Today Aya had been distracted by a crowd of children and was halfway across the courtyard, Brad lurking close by. There was a pained whimpering sound and then Schuldig appeared from behind the fence wiping his mouth with his forearm and smiling in satisfaction.

Aya bolted behind the fence, and Brad followed him, careful not to show himself fully.

The boy, Omi, was propped up against the fence with his hands braced on his knees. He was shivering, and Aya was making soothing sounds. Brad withdrew.

The next day he caught Aya alone for a moment and reached for his arm. "Aya—"

Aya batted him away, eyes distrustful. Brad subsided, and they looked at each other for a long moment. They were interrupted by the sound of scuffling on the far side of the fence. Aya tensed, but stayed put. Then there was a muffled cry, and a German curse, and Aya whirled away. Brad shot forward and grabbed his shoulder. Aya turned on him with a snarl. Brad tugged at him. "Listen to me, Aya, damn it! Listen to me!"

Aya strained away, but he met Brad’s eyes.

Brad held him and said slowly, "I know that you can understand me. If you agree to come back here afterwards, then you can go to him now."

Aya glared angrily, but he gave a short, sharp nod.  
_  
Good enough. _Brad released him and followed him around the fence.

Schuldig had Omi on the ground already. The boy’s ribcage was heaving up and down madly, but he was making no sound. His face was bruised, and he flinched when Schuldig’s boots moved. Aya crashed into Schuldig, knocking them both to the ground. Schuldig thrashed madly, cursing as he tried to get his feet under him. Aya rolled to his knees and lunged at Schuldig again, but he was pulled up short by Omi, who had his arms around Aya’s shoulders and was speaking to him rapidly in Japanese.

Schuldig got to his feet and glared at them, shaking dirt out of his hair. He spoke slowly, his accent strong. "You’re going to regret that." He cracked his knuckles menacingly.

Brad stepped into Schuldig’s line of sight. "Come on, Schuldig, you don’t want to do this."

Schuldig’s eyes narrowed. "You can’t stop me."

"Maybe not, but the Colonel could, and I doubt that he’d be happy with you if I reported this."

"You wouldn’t last a day." Schuldig moved on the balls of his feet, his balance shifting towards Brad.

"We’ll just have to see, won’t we?" Brad took two steps backwards.

Schuldig was still for a moment, and then he threw his head back and laughed. "You’ve got balls. Fine, I’ll leave these two alone, just for you." He left the compound, bumping shoulders with Brad as he went.

Omi was drawing Aya back towards the living quarters quickly. At the last moment Aya looked back over his shoulder at Brad, an inscrutable look on his face.

The next day, when Brad took his break and slipped behind the fence, Aya was waiting. He didn’t say anything, but he hadn’t said anything in Brad’s fantasies either, so that was all right.

He backed up when Brad approached, stopping only when his back hit the fence.

Brad brought his hands up to cup Aya’s face, to feel his warm, smooth skin. Aya’s hands clasped his wrists, not removing them, but not letting go. It was a start.

Brad leaned forward to kiss him, but Aya turned his head to the side, so Brad kissed his cheek instead, his ear, his chin, his throat. Aya didn’t want this, he thought, but it didn’t matter, not anymore. He slid down to his knees, hands sliding down the line of Aya’s body. Aya released his wrists and pressed his hands to the fence, body trembling very slightly. Brad rubbed his chin against Aya’s groin and hummed appreciatively as he felt the bump there.

Ordinarily, his lover would be tearing his clothes off at this point, eager to get to the main event, but Aya was not his lover. He opened the man’s pants gently.

***

In the break room he drank his coffee slowly, limbs still liquid. Schuldig sidled up to him.

"Had your fun?"

Brad smiled faintly, looking straight ahead. "Yes."

"Thanks in part to me."

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Well, come on then." Schuldig grabbed his hand and tugged him up, barely giving him time to put his cup down. As they walked down the hall Schuldig bumped their hips together. Brad didn’t mind. He’d gotten what he wanted, and now Schuldig would get what he wanted. It wasn’t that great a price to pay.

 

Part 2

The room was unpleasant, not the dungeon that he would have found in Europe or Britain, but unpleasant all the same. For one thing it was dirty. Quite obviously no one had cleaned in here for a very long time. Dust lay heavily in the corners and small insects scurried around. There was a great red stain on the center of the floor that made him nervous. If he were a romantic he would have said that the feel of despair hung heavy in the air. Because he was not he merely noticed the smell of human waste.

He’d been here for two days, waiting patiently, because he was a patient person, and because he had no choice.

In the afternoon of the second day the door swung open silently and Brad rose to his feet. A man entered, tall for the Japanese, but shorter than Brad. He had remarkable coloring, red hair and violet eyes, though his features were Japanese. He looked around him first, eyes passing over Brad without pausing, examining the corners of the room. His nose wrinkled.

Brad gave a bow of appropriate depth and began to speak the few words of greeting that he’d been taught before starting his voyage, but the man immediately raised his hand in warning and Brad trailed off.

He straightened his spine as the man walked around him, feeling like a mediocre piece of art. He’d been ogled a lot when he’d first stepped off the ship, but never with such intensity.

The man came back in front of him, and reaching out, lifted Brad’s chin with the tips of his fingers.

Brad stepped back and repeated the greeting that he had been taught. He would show respect, but he had to show that he must be respected too.

The man smiled slightly and said in accented English, "There is no need for that, we may speak in your language."

In surprise Brad blurted out, "How is it that you can speak English?"

"I learned it from your missionaries."

"So you are a Christian?" The possibility raised his spirits. Perhaps he would survive this after all.

A soft snort. "No. I arrange executions and deal with foreign prisoners during their last days. I’ve been exposed to many languages, English one of them."

The implications made his heart beat fast, but he had no time to dwell on it, because the man was speaking again.

"You may call me Fujimiya-san. And now, what brought you to my country? You do not look like a missionary."

"I’m the Captain of the Mackenzie. She’s a trading ship. I work for the East India Company, and they have asked me to open trade with Japan."

"You know that in Japan, trade with foreigners is forbidden."

"I know that, and I have not broken your law. I only wish to discuss the issue with your Shogun."

"That will not be possible. The Shogun does not speak with foreigners. Your situation is grave. You would be lucky to escape with your life."

Brad felt ill, but he met Fujimiya’s gaze squarely. He had never failed, and he would not fail now. "I trust that the Shogun will have the wisdom not to anger a foreign power by ignoring its representative."

Fujimiya gave a faint smile. "Ignore? He will not even do that. I decide what foreigners need the attention of the Shogun, and I have not yet seen a reason to send you to him."

Brad cursed himself for not recognizing where the power lay, and Fujimiya for being a petty bastard. He kept his voice low and submissive. "What would it take to convince you?"

Fujimiya’s smile widened, showing teeth. "I’ll think about it." He turned away and left the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

Brad sank down to the floor. He had never been in a worse position, and he felt worse than he had before Fujimiya had come. His life hung on the whims of an uncompassionate stranger. He could only wait, consider what he might be asked to give up, and what he was willing to give, what he was _capable _of giving.

It was two more days before Fujimiya returned, and when he did Brad felt greatly humbled. He’d decided that he would do whatever was necessary to preserve his life. If he could do that then he would have won a victory, not against an enemy, but against himself. He had been foolish to come here, but he could save the situation.

Fujimiya stopped in front of him. "How are you today, Crawford-san?"

"I am well, Fujimiya-san. Have you considered my situation?"

"I have. If I were to send you before the Shogun it is unlikely that they would grant you the right to trade here, but they would probably send you back to your country. However, I do not have a reason to send you unless you give me one."

Brad’s heart beat fast. "What reason could I give you?"

Fujimiya reached out and ran a finger down the line of Brad’s jaw. "I’ve never had an Englishman."

It took a moment for Brad to register what he meant, and when he did he felt a hot flush creep over his face. He jerked away from the finger, eyes wide.

Fujimiya made a small noise in the back of his throat. "You refuse?"

Brad opened his mouth quickly and shut it slowly. He wanted to live. He’d decided to do whatever was necessary in order to live. This was necessary. He shook his head. "No, I do not refuse." A small hesitation, and then he added, "I will do whatever you require me to."

Fujimiya smiled slowly, then nodded and turned to the door. "Very well, then I require you to follow me."

Brad followed him out, feeling numb. They passed open rooms only slightly better looking than his own, and closed rooms that probably held other prisoners. That sparked a thought. "Fujimiya-san?"

Fujimiya turned around. "Yes, Crawford-san?"

"My men," he gestured to the closed doors, "the men who accompanied me, will they also be set free?"

"That is for the Shogun to decide," said Fujimiya, "but if they release you then most likely they will also release your people." He turned back and began walking again.

Brad followed. The rooms they passed became nicer, but still they walked on. Finally Fujimiya stopped in front of a plain door and opened it, stepping to the side. "You may stay here today. I will join you tonight."

Brad stepped into the room, and heard the door close behind him. He was in a bedroom with a low bed and small square windows. It was a nice room, with rugs and painted walls. There was a very luxurious bathroom, although things were placed a bit oddly. He cleaned himself thoroughly. If he was going to do this, then at least he could be clean. He pulled on one of the robes piled on a shelf, admiring the sleek cloth.

There were knick-knacks in the room that kept him occupied for a while, and there were books, but they were in Japanese, and his knowledge of written Japanese was even worse than spoken. He lay on the bed for a while, but it unnerved him, and so he ended up sitting on the floor next to a screened window. The screen lifted, but all that was on the other side was the wall of another building. He tried to calm his mind, but what was to come kept him on edge. Dusk fell, but he made no move to light the lamps.

When the door opened he tensed, but it was only a young girl with a tray. She put the tray on the bed and lit the lamps, silent, though her movements showed irritation. He wished that she would scold him. Even if he didn’t understand the words, the sound of another’s voice would be comforting.

She set the tray in front of him and left. He didn’t feel a particular need to eat, but he picked at it anyway. Several things he didn’t recognize, and those he ignored. The soup was tolerable, if filled with strange vegetables, and as everywhere in this country, there was rice.

He was poking suspiciously at small, glazed ball-shaped things when Fujimiya returned. He pushed the tray aside and stood, but Fujimiya ignored him, and went into the bathroom.

Sitting on the floor was no longer comfortable, but the bed was only a few feet higher. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, then decided that he didn’t want to look unfriendly or defensive, and laced his fingers over his stomach.

Fujimiya came out wearing the same kind of robe that Brad was wearing and settled on the bed, shaking out his long red hair and drawing a comb smoothly down through it. He methodically moved around his head, until, halfway through he looked up, caught Brad’s eye and held the comb out to him.

Brad took it and settled on the bed behind Fujimiya. He had done this for his sister once or twice, and his mother, never for a lover. Fujimiya’s hair was lighter than it looked, sleek and wet, clinging to his fingers as he held it away from the comb. When he was done, Fujimiya took the comb from him and stood to put it away. Brad remained on the bed and watched him. He was not a bad looking man, but he was a _man_, and that might prove problematic if Fujimiya wanted anything more from him than passivity. He would just have to take his cues from the man’s movements and hope not to anger him.

Fujimiya sat on the bed behind him and reached for him. Brad sat still while hands hooked around him to untie his robe, then followed their urgings and settled on his stomach. He couldn’t help but tense here, because it was what he’d been imagining all day. The bed shifted slightly as Fujimiya settled next to him.

Brad closed his eyes and his fingers clenched on the blanket above his head. Hands grasped his wrists and pulled his arms down. He released the blanket and settled his arms at his sides, turning his head and opening his eyes at the feel of movement on his back. Fujimiya was sliding the robe down, off his arms. He dropped it low on Brad’s hips, sparing him the indignity of complete exposure. He spoke, his oddly accented English rippling through the room. After so much silence it was startling. "You are too tense. Coupling will never be pleasant until you have relaxed."

Brad said nothing, consciously relaxing his limbs as best he could.

Fujimiya put a hand on his back and swept it up and down in long, thoughtful strokes. It was nice. "That will not work for long." He left off with the touching for a moment and leaned over the side of the bed.

Brad pushed himself up on his elbows to see what he was doing, then settled himself back down when Fujimiya reappeared with a small jar in his hands. He pulled the cork and dipped his fingers in. They came out shiny and dripping. Brad swallowed and slowly spread his legs. Fujimiya noticed and laughed, nudging them back together. "Not yet." He ran his hand down Brad’s back and then up again in a slow circle, over his shoulders. The oil felt cool against his skin, and he shivered and dropped his head.

He heard Fujimiya draw in a sharp breath, and then there was a weight on his lower back, and Fujimiya’s hands were digging into his shoulders, gripping and squeezing and rolling. It felt wonderful, and not even the feel of Fujimiya’s bare thighs against his sides caused any great concern.

Fujimiya massaged all the way from the back of Brad’s neck to his forearms, to the sensitive skin at the small of his back, just where they touched. Then he pushed up and went lower. Brad didn’t mind very much.

Fujimiya squeezed his buttocks and thighs with oily hands. He dribbled cold oil down the crack of Brad’s backside and followed it with warm hands.

When he was finally breached, first by fingers and then by hotter, sturdier flesh, he felt relaxed enough that he felt very little pain, only sleepy warmth. He woke up a bit when Fujimiya began to thrust, pushing back with his hands to feel the odd spark of it.

He was beginning to feel a thrum of arousal when Fujimiya went still above him and shuddered for long, wet moments. It wasn’t comfortable, and even less so when Fujimiya pulled out, but after wiping his back end off he was comfortable enough to fall asleep next to him.

The next morning, before he went before the Shogun, Fujimiya had him again, harder, while Brad worked his hand between his legs. Then Fujimiya dressed him in a plain black suit made with fine, soft cloth and took him to the door of the Shogun’s waiting room. Brad ran his hands over the buttons, met Fujimiya’s eyes, and walked in.


End file.
